


Pitch Black

by myashke



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-10
Updated: 2005-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-14 20:36:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myashke/pseuds/myashke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even Draco needs to practice. See?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pitch Black

The pitch is lumpy under his back, the cool blades of grass prickling the backs of his arms as he lies there, staring into the inky sky. His panting mouth open, he can taste the damp earthy scent of his own sweat and the clumps of sod stuck to his cleats.

It's blackest night, the dead quiet time when not even the crickets are bothering to fight sleep. Blackest night and he's lying there on the ground after an exhilarating ride that found him higher than any other before. He wonders if maybe he went too high too fast and the dizzy spin of his head is all due to the ride and nothing to do with the arousal left by the broomstick's inexorable rub between his thighs. It's there though, and he feels it like his swimming brain and the tightness of his Quidditch trousers hugging his nervous legs.

He thinks about fighting it but knows he won't, knows it's rare and best this way, so absolutely alone and quiet and as private as he ever gets anywhere. He clamps his teeth hard on the fingers of one glove and yanks it off, pulls the other off too and goes for his zipper. His robes spill around him and his fly hangs open and he's rubbing, just rubbing against his palm to take the edge off.

He closes his eyes and wriggles a little deeper into the grass. The spikes on his shoes catch the earth as he slides his legs up and tucks one arm under his head. It's a quick thing, his pants pushed down just enough, just to the tops of his shin guards where they stop and won't go any further. But he doesn't need them off, just that far down is enough and he's rubbing again, lower, kneading his balls and pressing his fingertips behind them, shifting his hips to feel the grass tickle his backside through the slit in his robe.

Hand wrapping around his cock, he's squeezing his eyes shut now, images flickering like a strobe behind his tight eyelids. The night is still silent around him and he knows, knows that it's risky but won't care, can't care because his hand feels so good and the grass beneath him feels like fingers on his back and ass and thighs. He slips the arm from beneath his head and tilts his chin up into the air, slips his free hand under his t-shirt and thumbs his nipple hard in time with the motion of his hips and he's close that fast, rocking and stroking, a true rhythm now and nothing to break it, nothing to stop him from coming and coming into the open night but a cold hand startling, clamping on his thigh and those pale gray eyes and those red lips smirking at him before falling silently open, tongue slowly licking out to wet them and Malfoy's face above him doesn't stop him, can't stop it, makes it unstoppable and he shoots hard and thick over his own hand.

The icy fingers dig into his leg and he can't tell if it's his orgasm or the hand making him shiver but he does, he shakes violently as Malfoy feels him come, feels all the way from his thigh to his stomach and that hand and those eyes and that mouth is coming down on his wet belly, tasting him. Pink tongue licks out and now those lips are wet, wet with his wetness and Harry can't breathe, can't speak but Malfoy takes a deep breath and he can, he can.

"Practicing, Potter?"

He's stunned silent but shakes his head and starts to sit up, face flaming and eyes unable to focus on anything. That hand comes back to rest low on his stomach, this time insistently, and Harry freezes and falls again to the earth, turns his head from the embarrassing witness of Malfoy's gaze.

"Nothing to be ashamed of. Even I have to practice. See?" And Harry looks and sees Malfoy sweeping his black robes aside to show Harry his practice uniform, Quidditch pads and pants and a thin white shirt, his gloves looped on a leather sarong over his shoulder. They fall unnoticed to the pitch as Malfoy shrugs out of his robes and kneels over him, leather guards creaking against Harry's still bare thighs.

Harry's mind reels with the feeling, breath choking in his throat with the need and the denial of it at the same time. "Malfoy-"

"If it would help, you're welcome to watch me."

Harry licks his lips, waiting for the punch line and nods just a little but knows Malfoy doesn't see it because Malfoy's already shedding his shirt and opening his trousers. There's nothing underneath the snug tan pants but Draco, Malfoy, and Harry shifts a little, groans and promises himself he won't move again, not until this is over, until Malfoy is off him, off on him, God.

One of Malfoy's hands brushes over his t-shirt, finds his tight nipple and rolls it between two long fingers and then the hand opens flat, pushes into Harry's chest, the weight of Malfoy pressuring out every breath Harry takes before it can fill his lungs. He looks down and the other, God, the other hand is already stroking up and down, displaying the tip of Malfoy's stiff prick to him, then hiding it, then showing it and it's teasing, taunting Harry and he'd never seen it that way, never seen anyone else this way and it's strange but good, so good. And it *is*, God, because Malfoy bites his bottom lip and throws his head back, Adam's apple moving hard in a swallow that makes Harry writhe just to feel Malfoy's soft hard body pressing against his stirring cock.

Malfoy's ass and thighs spread open over him, thinly veiled by tight riding pants, nearly naked with only that between Malfoy's sex and his own and ass, balls, thighs are mashing into him, rocking him into the earth with every quick stroke of Malfoy's hand. Harry bends his knees to feel more of it and Malfoy knows, gets it and leans back heavily on Harry's legs, tilting that cock and those hips a little skyward and Harry, God, Harry wants to touch, wants to *move more* but can't, can't do anything but take half breaths under that heavy hand and tighten his own ass in sympathy when Malfoy's muscles clench against his thighs and the hand speeds to blurring and Malfoy spills up and over onto Harry's fluttering stomach.

They pant together, Malfoy's chest heaving and back so slick with sweat that it slides a little when he leans back on the tremoring chair of Harry's legs. Malfoy's eyes are closed and Harry knows he can touch, knows it like he knows the smooth hairless skin over Malfoy's heart will feel just like his own and he does, he touches it, feels Malfoy's gasping breaths and thumping heart and then the scratch of stubble on his jaw that makes Harry's fingertips itch. He follows the roughness up Malfoy's cheek and when those eyes catch his own, Harry curls his fingers around Malfoy's neck and pulls him down hard, hard enough to hurt, and kisses him.

Their mouths fit together like two halves making a whole, like Harry knows their bodies would and he drinks and licks and pours himself into their needy moans and rough, low growls. His fingers tangle in Malfoy's hair and he can't see but knows that those pure white strands are trapping him, caging him into this with Malfoy. His chest heaves and he feels Malfoy shift and it's so terrifyingly close, so give and take and he's starving for it, for the inescapable confines of Malfoy. He licks deeply in, moans again and winces despite himself as he pulls his hands carefully away and holds them free, into the empty air on either side of Malfoy.

Malfoy looks up at his hands, hair brushing against Harry's temples and ears. He's still just there, so close, but Harry can barely feel him at all now.

"Right." Malfoy's breath is hot and sweet and feels damp as fog so close to Harry's lips. Before Harry can do something, say anything, Malfoy's pushing himself up and off, pulling himself back together and mounting his broom, looking over his shoulder at Harry lying there on the ground. "All done then?"

Harry doesn't nod or shake his head or speak. His hands move blindly down to hitch up his trousers and fasten them.

Malfoy smiles at him, doesn't sneer, and Harry smiles back.

He finds his broom a few feet away in the grass and tucks it under one arm while he pulls on his gloves. The night is not warm but he's hot and he leaves his robes where they lay. He clears his throat and turns his face into the cool breeze, fighting down his flush. "Fancy a one on one?"

~finis~

  


**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world and characters are the sole property of JK Rowling, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros, Inc. No money is being made and no copyrite infringement is intended.
> 
> Notes: For my shaggirl who already knows why.


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